


Friends and Functions

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [20]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort Food, First Meetings, Food, Halloween, Injury Recovery, M/M, Medical Jargon, Super Soldier Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 17:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17605469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: Becausefuck. Every year they do Halloween together, just like every year they do first-seasonal-bubble-tea and first-seasonal-Starbucks together come winter (pumpkin spice latté obvi), just like they do Crappy Valentine’s together every year. So every year on Halloween, they dress a little more unusually than usual, and then they go out somewhere (usually prearranged) and have a good time and then stay over and watch scary movies and eat candy.And it’s Thursday, two days until Halloween. When he looks at her she’s not smiling any more, and James can’t blame her, fuck, Halloween is on a fuckingSaturdaythis year. Literally the best day to have Halloween and it’s two days away and he’s been completely oblivious for like a month.Shit.“Amy-”“You can’t make it huh,” she says, and he doesn’t even need to look at her to know what she looks like. “With two days to go?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thanks, a-isoiso, I wasn't doing well and I appreciate the check.

Steve is predictably worn out come morning. James doesn’t like to think things like ‘it was a big night for him’ because Steve isn’t a five-year-old kid who gets worn out by a tough afternoon of socializing.

Then again, the evening with Natasha is the longest James has seen him stay awake for a long time now, and he doesn’t know if Steve caught a nap with her there during the afternoon. He doesn’t think so. 

Steve is lethargic the following morning, is up before James but shuffling around again, wrapped up in his hoodie. James can’t blame him - couldn’t blame him if he spent the whole day sleeping, he’s recovering from bullet wounds, and James wonders if it’s ever going to get easier to think about. He wonders if it should. 

“Hey,” Steve says. “You know how to make French hot chocolate?”

James blinks at him. He’s got forty-five before he has to go downstairs for work, and Steve looks particularly half-asleep. 

“No,” he says. “You wanna tell me?”

Turns out it’s the old-fashioned way of making hot chocolate, at least as far as James is concerned. Milk heated on a stove (with cinnamon, because Steve likes cinnamon), a little vanilla, and then a tablespoon of cocoa powder. 

Then a shit ton of chocolate, until the whole thing’s a silky-smooth bowl of something the consistency of custard. Which Steve then proceeds to dunk a donut in in small pieces. And then a second donut.

James does not do that. James has a little of the mixture with a lot more milk in it, and cooks up some bacon for breakfast. Steve has some of that in his hot chocolate, too and, when he lets James taste, it’s not as bad as James was expecting.

“I mean, I guess bacon maple works, right?” he says, and Steve shrugs.

“Lotsa places do bacon chocolate,” he says. “I know one place does an ice-cream.”

James declines the offer of a bowl of the chocolate to himself though, and Steve nods a little.

“I’ll have it for lunch then,” he says. “If you don’t mind?”

James reaches out, covers Steve’s hand with his on the tabletop. 

“Why would I mind?” he says. Steve shakes his head, and James can’t figure out if he looks tired, sad, or confused. “You okay?”

Steve yawns as he nods, covers his hand with the back of his hand and closes his eyes.

“I’m exhausted,” he says. “I thought I was okay but I-” he yawns again. 

“You should go back to bed, “ James says, rubs his fingers over Steve’s knuckles - his hands are cold. 

“Muh, I wanna finish my hot chocolate,” he says, stirring it with a particularly crisp strip of bacon.

“Well yeah, obviously, only once I’ve gone to work, otherwise you won’t get to see my beautiful face to kiss me goodbye.”

Steve smiles, huffs through his nose, but then his gaze slides sideways, his smile fades.

“I wish I had more peanut sauce,” he says.

James laughs, checks his phone for the time.

“I’ve still got like fifteen minutes, you want me to just…” James points at the stove.

Steve looks at the stove - okay, no, Steve swings his head around and looks at the stove, man, he must be exhausted.

“You got a recipe?” he says.

“I was a student,” James answers. “What’re you wantin’ to do with it?”

Steve looks at him.

“I’m not sure you wanna know,” he says. 

James is also not sure he wants to know. 

“Okay,” James tells him. “It’s easy, it’s like…for every spoon of peanut butter it’s a _big_ splash of soy sauce, some garlic, and some….you got any five spice powder?”

“In with the tins,” he says, stretching his arms out over the tabletop before he lowers his head to them.

James finds it.

“And you got brown sugar,” he says, which he knows ‘cause he saw it - he grabs some of that too. “Okay, cool. How much chili powder?”

“No,” Steve says, “thank you. No thank you, no chili.”

And then he dumps half the nearest jar of peanut butter into a saucepan with the rest of his accrued ingredients, and tops it off with enough cream to make the whole mixture liquid. 

It doesn’t take long once he starts stirring and, despite his breakfast, James hears Steve’s stomach growl.

“Smells good,” Steve says, and James makes sure all the clumps of peanut butter are broken up, that the little tiny pieces of peanut are nicely dispersed.

“You want it hot or-”

“Honey, I love you,” Steve says, “but can you-”

“Yeah, here,” James says, and he looks around for something to pour it into. 

Steve shoves his empty hot chocolate bowl across the table with a rattle of cutlery on crockery, and James figures if he cared about the small pool of liquid at the bottom, he would have asked for a clean bowl.

“Ta-daa,” James says, decanting the sauce, and pushes it back towards Steve. “D’you want a bigger spoo-”

“I’m gonna pick it up and drink it the second you leave for work, honey, maybe with another donut,” he says, but he looks at James with so much gratitude James would think he hadn’t been fed in months if he hadn’t seen Steve packing it away like a champ the past twelve hours. “Thank you, sweetheart, thank you _so_ much.”

James tries not to think about Steve’s plans, as horrifying and hilarious as they are in equal measure. 

Instead, he grabs his bag and makes sure he’s got his phone, and then he crosses back over to Steve and kisses the side of his head, over his hood, because Steve’s already spooning sauce into his mouth.

“I’ll be back at lunch,” he says. 

“M’kay,” Steve answers. “Love you.”

James smiles to himself as he goes to the door. He hasn’t even closed it behind him when Steve abandons the spoon and picks the whole bowl up. 

~

He’s working on a particular distribution of the electromagnetic repulsion field in the hopes that he might be able to further develop it into a sort of pulse weapon because, not only is it likely that would serve some purpose for the Avengers - after all, technically the Iron Man suit has repulsors on its hands and feet, not blasters - it would also be great to not only shield but also push enemies away or, for example, provide a means to dig oneself out of rubble, or get a heavy vehicle off oneself in case of emergency.

They’ve already figured out how to extract oxygen from the surrounding atmosphere to make sure you won’t suffocate under the shield - Amy’s working on miniaturizing the system but it’s a tough go considering this thing has to be portable. They’re even going to test it for submersible capability, see if they can’t make it pull oxygen from the water. Obviously, it’d be an emergency feature, but you never know when those extra few minutes would come in handy.

They work mainly in silence, not because they’ve got nothing to say to each other but because coding requires concentration and you can’t talk about your day-to-day while you’re trying to realign the electromagnetic structure of an invisibility cloak to maintain integrity when expanded outward with the speed of a sudden hand gesture and enough strength to be useful. He’s considering making strength proportional to gesture but, to be perfectly honest, if you’re in a position where you need the miniature ReCProSys, what are the chances you’ll have the time to decide which hand gesture to use?

He sips the cinnamon roll frap that Amy bought him.

Then again, if you need to move a pile of trash cans as opposed to a piece of fallen masonry or a bus, for example, it might be useful to be able to regulate the force. 

Whatever, he’ll see to it once he can actually make it push stuff.

He’s looking at the size of the repulsion grid when Amy stretches next to him, and he’s about to ask how she is when she says,

“Listen, I know you’ve got your big not-secret secret, but like Saturday is Halloween and I still don’t know what you’re go-”

And James is fucked.

“What?” James says. “Fuck. _Fuck!_ ”

Because _fuck_. Every year they do Halloween together, just like every year they do first-seasonal-bubble-tea and first-seasonal-Starbucks together come winter (pumpkin spice latté obvi), just like they do Crappy Valentine’s together every year. So every year on Halloween, they dress a little more unusually than usual, and then they go out somewhere (usually prearranged) and have a good time and then stay over and watch scary movies and eat candy. 

And it’s Thursday, two days until Halloween. When he looks at her she’s not smiling any more, and James can’t blame her, fuck, Halloween is on a fucking _Saturday_ this year. Literally the best day to have Halloween and it’s two days away and he’s been completely oblivious for like a month. _Shit._

“Amy-”

“You can’t make it huh,” she says, and he doesn’t even need to look at her to know what she looks like. “With two days to go?”

And no but James has _really_ done it this time, he’s really fucking shoved his entire fucking leg in it now. It’s not about Halloween, it’s about dressing up and having a good time, it’s about going out one night a year and not worrying what someone might say because of what he puts on his face, it’s about spending time with Amy on a holiday she loves, it’s about being a good friend and enjoying being friends together - one day a year, aside from their birthdays which is a totally different kettle of fish, and he’s fucked it up.

 _Oh boy_ has he fucked it up.

“Ames,” he says, and she shakes her head.

“Forget it,”she says, and he reaches out - she moves her arm. “Keep doing your little secret project or whatever. God _damn,_ man, I bought you a fuckin’-”

“I can prove it,” James says, and she just looks at him.

“Prove what, dingus?” she says, and then she looks him up and down. “At least try and remember which language you’re speaking before you make excuses.”

James clenches his jaw and pulls his phone from his pocket.

“Fine,” he says. “Fine, but if this all goes to shit, it’s your fault and I’ll hold you responsible, you understand?” 

She just looks at him, just _looks_ at him.

“Gimme a second,” he says, and she scoffs as he jabs Steve’s contact in his phone.

When Jarvis puts him through, he can tell Steve was barely awake and feels instantly terrible. He bites his lip, unsure.

Wow maybe he should just hang up.

 _“Huh?”_ Steve says. _“Honey? Y’okay?”_

“Sorry,” James says. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just…I…was gonna ask if I can bring my teammate up at lunch today.”

 _“What, Amy?”_ Steve says, James _hears_ Jarvis speak and then he says it again. _“Amy?”_

He shakes his head. 

“Look, it’s,” he says. “I…” This is terrible of him, Steve has been _shot_ for fuck’s sake. And he’s worn out from Natasha’s visit, the last thing he needs is another one.

_“James, what’s wrong, honey, do you need me to-”_

He turns away from Amy with the phone.

“I wanted to know if I can bring the other person on my team,” he says. “And it’d only be for like two minutes, just so she can see what’s going on.”

There’s a long pause.

_“Is…are you not talking about Amy?”_

“Yeah,” James says. “She’s here with me right now-”

_“Ah, okay, covert ops, gotcha.”_

“-and she just reminded me that it’s Halloween on Saturday and I totally forgot and we go out every year and I forgot and I _know_ it’s short notice-”

 _“Slow down, honey-”_

“I know, I would never ask but she’s-” he looks at her “-she’s my best friend and I want her in on it.”

 _“Honey, honey, slow down, sweetheart, wait, you can-”_ James hears him take a breath, he’s probably wincing, jeez, he’s not well enough for visitors. _“I need to find a shirt-”_

“No,” James says, “no, it’s okay, we’re not taking lunch for like an hour and a half but-”

_“Oh! Oh, that’s fine. Yeah, just text me when you’re logging off.”_

“Steve, if you’re not up to it-”

“Steve?” he hears Amy say.

_“It’s fine, message me and then, if you’re okay to grab me a chai latte from TCB, would you? A large? I’m jonesin’ for one and it should give me time to, y’know. Find underwear. ‘Cause I ain’t doin’ it now.”_

James nods.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “Thank you!”

 _”It’s alright, honey?”_ Steve says. _“I’ll see the two of you in a little bit. Love you.”_

“Me too,” James says, and then he looks at Amy. “You’re cleared to come with me today but I don’t know how long we can stay, and I need to pick up a chai latte first.”

She still doesn’t look pleased, but she turns back to her workstation, brushes imaginary lint of her pant leg.

“Whatever, Mysterio,” she says.

James scowls, and tries to remember that she doesn’t know what he knows, and that, if he were in her position, he’d probably be just as mad.

~

The thing is though, even though he’s got a perfectly good reason, he still feels like an utter dick. Actually, he feels like an utter dick on both counts - he forgot Amy’s favorite holiday, and he’s sort of forcing her on Steve, who’s still worn out from someone he actually _knew_.

Still, he can’t take it back. Wouldn’t, either - he knows she’s upset, knows she’s got a right to be. And if he doesn’t show her now there’s a chance she’ll never let him. He thinks maybe, if it were Becca in her place, he could convince him if he left it any longer, but he doesn’t want to. He and Steve have been together a long time now, and there’s pretty much just Connor and Amy left to tell.

He’ll tell Connor later - he doesn’t want to overshadow the baby news anyway.

***

Even though he naps for another hour and a half, Steve is still exhausted when the alarm he’s set goes off. And the thing is, he’s perfectly happy for Amy to come on upstairs, that’s fine. If James trusts her enough to tell her, Steve’s happy with her knowing. But James didn’t sound happy, and Steve was kind of asleep when he called, not to mention kind of asleep five minutes ago, too. Now he’s got to brush his teeth and shave - no, fuck it, he’s not shaving, she can deal with the stubble. He also has to find underwear and a nice shirt - he’ll make an effort with his appearance, mainly because he knows how much she means to James. Besides, he sent James to TCB during the lunch rush so he’s got a little time.

~

He hears James and Amy come in as he’s pulling his pants on. He found a nice t-shirt that’s a little big on him, a big, thick cardigan, and a pair of slacks. He can pull it off, and it chafes a little but it’ll be fine for the hour or so that they’re here.

“We’re here!” James calls, and Steve smiles, shakes his head and then checks how he looks in the mirror one last time. 

He did shave after all, because this might be a personal visit but he doesn’t know how Amy’s going to take it so he might as well look presentable, and he needs to seem at least slightly professional. He cards his fingers through his hair one last time - he really ought to have trimmed the swoop a little as well but he’s been told it’s a ‘trustworthy’ hairstyle, whatever the hell _that_ means.

Steve walks down the corridor towards the living area, and he can hear the two of them talking. 

“Just wait a second,” James is saying, but Amy doesn’t sound concerned in the slightest which is…not the impression Steve got from the phonecall so what’s going on?

“This is where you’ve been coming every day?” she says. “It doesn’t _look_ like an office.”

“That’s because it’s an apartment,” Steve says as he comes in, but he’s sort of half-interrupted when Amy screams in shock and whirls about to look at him, “ha, oh my God,” he laughs, “I’m so sorry!”

“Oh my God, what the hell,” Amy breathes, hand over her heart, and James smiles a little.

“Hi,” he says, but Steve’s still chuckling.

“Wow, I’m so sorry,” he says, walking towards her with his hand extended. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh my God, it’s so fine,” Amy says. “Like, it’s fine, oh my God, James didn’t tell me he was working with you,” then she looks at James, “oh my God James how did you land a secret project with Captain America? Oh my God, is _he_ gonna use the-”

“Nah-ah!” Steve says, and she freezes. “I don’t know if I am or not, but I know you’re not allowed to talk about it, and I don’t want you gettin’ in trouble.”

The problem is that, as Steve says all that, James is saying,

“Ames, he’s a fuckin’ Commander,” 

and Steve feels the smile drop off his face.

“James,” he says, and Amy looks back to him.

“Oh my God, Sir, I am so sorry,” she says, takes his hand and shakes it.

“That’s okay,” he says. “It happens all the time. The other thing is, he’s not working with me, we’re dating.”

Amy’s brow creases as she lets go of his hand.

“You’re-?” she says.

“Yep. That my latte, honey?”

“Mmh,” James says, and he walks past Amy, whose mouth is hanging open, and comes right up to Steve for a brief kiss hello before he hands the latte over. “How you feeling?”

“Oh wow,” Amy says. _“Niúbì…”_

Steve chuckles - it’s a colloquialism he knows, meaning basically ‘fuckin A,’ although its literal translation is a little more colorful. 

“I’m good, sweetheart, thank you. It’s nice to see you again, Amy, James talks about you all the time.”

“Oh my God, his name really _is Steve!”_ she says. “Oh my God, but you got shot like three weeks…” her eyes go wide, and then her head turns slowly until she’s looking at James. “That’s why you were off sick,” she says. _“That’s_ why you were off sick _and_ why you were so down, _and_ why you said you had a sick family member, oh my God, I’m so fuckin’ stupid. How long have you been dating him? Like- Oh my God, you were at the bar, and _that’s_ why you were making eyes at each other at the EWS refresher, oh my God, how long have you even been dating?”

Steve feels himself smile.

“It’ll be six months come two weeks on Sunday,” he says, and James looks at him. “From our first date.”

James nods. 

“Right,” he says. “November fifteenth, right?”

Steve smiles.

“That’s the one,” he says. “Amy, would you like to sit down?” Steve says.

“In a sec,” she says, holding out a hand, and then she realizes who she’s talking to. “Oh my God, I’m _so_ sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says. _“I’m_ gonna sit down.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve been shot four times, holy shit, you shouldn’t even be awake, I should go-”

“Listen,” Steve says, before James can agree with her, because it looks like he might. “I’m awake ‘cause it’s time for me to load up on calories. My metabolism is utterly insane most of the time anyway but it’s literally unstoppable when I’m healing. So I’m gonna be awake anyway, you’re not intruding.”

“How did I even get up here?” she says, and James, who has walked to the kitchen, doesn’t even turn around. 

“We’re cleared already,” James says. “Plus I vouched for you.”

Steve watches her as she visibly thinks about this, watches her looks around the living area and then at James’ back.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and Steve looks down, away, to give them some semblance of privacy. “I should’ve believed you.”

James stops crushing the garlic he was crushing and heaves a sigh, tilts his head back to look at the ceiling.

“I wouldn’t have believed me,” he says eventually. “And I’m sorry about Halloween-”

“You should go!” Steve says. “The Halloween- I don’t mean leave,” he has to put a hand out to stop Amy getting up. “I don’t mean leave, I mean, James, you should go out. On Saturday.”

“No, oh my God,” Amy says, “no, it’s okay, I didn’t realize he-”

“We’re not talking about this now,” James answers, and Steve feels his eyebrows raise, looks at Amy and pulls an ‘oops’ face.

“Sure, honey,” he says instead. “You want a hand with lunch?”

“I’ll do it,” Amy says, gets up from the couch and puts a hand out to Steve as if to say ‘hold on,’ looking at him as she nods towards James

Steve nods - that seems like a good plan. This is James’ best friend, but they’ve clearly had a falling out and if she thinks she can sort it out, he’s not about to stand in her way.

She crosses over to James and talks to him quietly, starts helping him cook, and Steve picks up his latte and takes a sip - he could listen to them if he wanted, his hearing will let him, but he chooses to distract himself instead.

It smells like cake, like ice cream, like store bought gingerbread, like carrot cake and cream cheese frosting. Candles smell like this, those god-awful soaps that smell like food - there's something waxy and artificial hiding just below the sweetness, something thick and heady like marshmallow or buttercream. He smells spice, something almost like fruit, and the first sip floods his mouth with warmth and sugar, and his nose with spice a moment later. 

He can feel it slide down his throat, can feel the sugar headache settling in behind his cheekbones, over the bridge of his nose, and takes another sip. Sips are all he'll take - he wants to make it last - and the acrid taste of the coffee compounds the dryness on his tongue when he's swallowed. 

It's awful. 

He _loves_ it. 

~

“Hey,” Amy says. 

James is chopping scallions.

“You good if I make ramen? I didn’t know if you wanted-”

“Hey,” Amy says again, and James looks at her. 

She can see that he’s hurt, it’s not difficult to figure out. 

“D’I force you to tell me?” she says, and he shakes his head, jaw clenched. “James-”

“You didn’t, and I’m not pissed at you,” he says. “I’m…I mean, I’m pissed but it’s..I’m just. You know how you get mad at somethin’ even though you know it ain’t right to be mad about it?”

She leans against the counter, folds her arms.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and he puts the knife down.

“Right,” he says. “Except you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“I kinda do,” she says, because she pushed him into telling her a huge secret, and he-

“No, listen, okay,” he says, “you’re my best friend and I didn’t tell you but it’s not about that, okay, it’s about the fact that I didn’t tell you about my boyfriend and then I didn’t tell you where I was going-”

“Yeah but you couldn’t tell me either of those ‘cause they were both the same thing you weren’t allowed to tell me-”

“Yeah but _you didn’t know that,_ ” James says, loudly enough that The Actual Steve Rogers lowers his TCB cup for a moment to look over. “That’s my whole, that’s the whole deal, you didn’t know that and you were pissed but like, hello? I straight up fucking ignored you for three weeks, and then I straight up fucking forgot Halloween.”

The Actual Steve Rogers narrows his eyes, takes a breath but decides better of it to go back to his coffee, and James says,

“You’re my best friend. And even if I couldn’t have _ever_ told you what the fuck was going on, you had every right to be pissed, and I should have like. Texted you. Or something, even just to say like I’ve been pulled into something classified or to say like ‘I don’t hate you I’m just busy’ or something but I didn’t. And I’m pissed that you got pissed, ‘cause I hate when people get pissed at me. But like. I mean. It’s only fair that you got mad at me. I would’a got fuckin’ mad if it was the other way around.”

“Hey, _Báichī,”_ she says, _hey idiot,_ and James looks at her. She sticks out a hand. “Friends?”

James looks at her for a couple moments more, and then he takes his hands off the counter and turns towards her and hugs her. She hugs him back because, okay, they’re best friends but like….

Okay, this is a lot to take in but like….

James’ secret boyfriend was shot almost dead, and he had to keep it all secret. He’s had a stressful month probably. Probably longer than month. 

“I don’t think,” The Actual Steve Rogers says, “you or I are capable of doing _anything_ ‘straight up’.”

“Oh my God,” Amy mutters into James’ shoulder. “You’re dating Actual Steve Rogers and he just basically said ‘ya gayyyy’.”

James pulls back and looks at her, then looks over at Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers appears to be thinking about something.

“What?” James says.

Steve Rogers smiles like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Ya gayyyy,” he says, and Amy laughs so hard her stomach hurts, not just because wow _that_ but also because James’ _face!_

Amy’s life, oh wow, Amy’s life is amazing.

~

Amy’s smart. Steve knows she’s smart because she waits until they’re all sitting down at the table before she starts asking questions about how they met and how they are together, which means that James can spend most of his lunch answering those questions, thereby avoiding both awkward silences and any discussion of his plans for Halloween.

And, once they’ve run out of relationship things to talk about, Steve asks her anything he can think of about their friendship.

“Not much to tell,” Amy says so begin with. “We were both part of the New Recruit Initiative, both pulled in on coding.”

But, as they progress, Steve learns that Amy’s Great Grandparents on her mother’s side came to America after the war - Steve’s war - and that Amy’s father came to America when he was about eighteen for college. Mandarin is Amy’s first language, English is her second, and Spanish is her third, which she took in High School. She’s an only child, and implies that her parents might have wanted to have another despite it.

She likes fantasy novels and James got her into ~~super~~ **human** , and she likes Halloween best because her family don’t really celebrate Christmas. 

“I mean like they don’t celebrate Halloween either but nobody I like wants to go out on Christmas and all the cool places are closed anyway.”

She’s smart, and polite, and she’s obviously trying very hard not to overstep. She doesn’t dumb things down for him, doesn’t act like Steve won’t know what she’s talking about, and she talks to both of them, not just to Steve. He doesn’t know if her confidence with him is natural, or comes from working in the tower where there are Avengers around all the time, or if it’s that she’s met him before but, whatever it is, it’s nice, and Steve likes her very much. She’s a lot like Becca, actually, so he can see why James gets on with her.

He likes her even more for the fact that, when she’s answered all his questions, she starts asking him questions. What his favorite art movement is, (hers is impressionism and James’ is a toss-up between Art Deco and Art Nouveau) and whether he has a favorite artist, a favorite medium, a favorite genre. 

Nobody ever asks, and it’s really nice to be able to talk about it, actually.

“You know,” he says, when they seem finally have run out of things to talk about, “James really does talk about you all the time. And Tony really does think very highly of the two of you, I’m really glad I’ve gotten to actually, y’know. Have a proper conversation with you that wasn’t over a notebook.”

She blushes.

“And you didn’t even ask about missions,” James says.

“Lol, no?” she says, looking at James like he’s just suggested she jump off the couch and attempt to fly - it’s a very eloquent _‘no, stupid,’_. “Why even would I?”

“Oh my god, you should have heard my Uncle,” James says, and Steve smiles to himself as James takes over the conversation.

Whatever it was between them seems to have passed, thank goodness, and he’s quite happy to sit back and let the two of them talk for now. He’ll need another nap after lunch, more likely than not.

~

By the time they’re done, and it’s time to go back to work, Steve is flagging. He knew he would, but he’s glad they came up to visit - he’s seen people for a couple of hands of rummy while James has been working once in a while, a couple of people have stopped by for a coffee, but it’s nice to properly engage with someone who’s so important to James. He’ll have to meet Connor soon.

In fact, he tries to say so and accidentally cuts himself off yawning. 

“Oof, sorry,” he says, and Amy stands up immediately.

“I’m keeping you up,” she says, and he tries to protest but she doesn’t look like she’s going to let him get away with it - gotta love strong women, Lord knows Steve does.

“You seem great for James,” he says. “Needs someone to keep him in line.”

“Oh my God, no kidding,” James says, “I was raised in a house with two women in it, I don’t know how anybody lives without them.”

“As long as you don’t expect them to do shit for you,” Amy says.

“Nah,” Steve says, “just somebody honest to tell me when I’m being a dumbass.”

“Oh well,” Amy says. “If you ever need the position filled-”

Steve laughs.

James comes around the table, leans down for a kiss, and then pulls his phone out of his pocket - to check the time, probably.

“Photo?” Amy says, and Steve kind of-

Okay, to say he’s disappointed is an overstatement but still... 

“Amy,” James says. “He’s sick, can’t you at least hold on for a selfie until-”

“Oh, nono,” she says, holding up her hands, “wow no, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I meant like…Do you want me to take your photo? ‘Cause like, I don’t know…seems like you would’ve just shown me a photo if you had one, ‘stead of bringing me up here. And also like if you’re gonna tell Connor he will literally never believe you.”

“Oh,” James says. “Uh,” and then he looks at Steve.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, so James passes his phone out to Amy and then starts shifting his chair, and Steve holds out an arm as James scoots across.

He puts his arm around James’ shoulder and smiles, mainly because Amy’s wearing the kind of smile that’s contagious, and then he kisses James’ cheek. James gives him a look but seems pleased nonetheless, and then they both smile.

“Okay,” Amy says, “say _‘secretly-dating-the-hottest-guy-on-the-planet!’ ”_

And Steve can’t help it. James is looking at the camera but Steve just looks at the side of James’ head, feels himself smile.

“Secretly dating the hottest guy on the planet,” he says, directly into James’ ear as James says it too, and Amy takes the picture just as pink stains James’ ear and his cheekbone - and oh wow, a lot of the rest of his face when James turns to give him that look again.

“You’re unbelievable,” James says.

“What a coincidence,” Steve answers, and James snorts, shakes his head and stands. 

“Lemme see?”

He takes the phone back from Amy - who’s _beaming_ \- and then rolls his eyes and hands the phone to Steve.

It’s exactly what he thought it’d be - James is smiling at the camera and he’s smiling at the side of James’ very pink head. It’s sweet.

“Nice,” he says. “Send it to me?”

“I hate you,” James says, tapping away at his phone. “I hate both of you.”

Steve’s phone buzzes a moment later and he smiles.

“Right,” James says. “We should get back downstairs.” He turns around, presses a slightly-lingering kiss to Steve’s lips and then he and Amy head on out. “See you tonight.”

“Nice to meet you!” Amy says. “Properly!”

“You too!” Steve calls after her, and James shuts the door behind them.

That was lovely. And he’s going to do his absolute best to get changed back into his comfortable clothes before he falls asleep again.

He doesn’t.

~

They talk a little about the afternoon in the elevator, but they do have work to do. They chat a little between themselves while they’re working, too. She tells a few jokes, and she still says ‘Steve’ with the same inflection she did when she thought Steve was fake.

“Hey,” James says, editing a little section of his code. “You know I love you, right? Like you’re my best friend.”

“Awh,” she says. “Yeah, I know. It’s ‘cause I’m awesome.”

“Awesome is one word for you,” James says.

***

Steve is sitting on the couch when James comes in that evening, slumped over with a book in his hand. He doesn’t look very awake in the few seconds it takes for him to turn around and look at James, but then he’s smiling, slow and sweet, pushing himself forward on the couch - it takes him two goes to stand up, but then James is there anyway, and Steve wraps big arms around him, hands cold under James’ jacket.

“Man, you need to warm up,” he says.

“That’s a terrible line but I accept,” Steve says, and brings one hand back to rub the back of it over James’ stomach. “Hmm.”

Kissing is nice, James can do kissi-

“Stop opening my shirt,” he says, and Steve ‘hmfs’ disappointedly at him but does as he’s asked - how did he even manage to do it with the back of his hand?

Steve kisses him for a little longer, and James moves his hands, tries to find skin. It’s not difficult considering Steve’s hoodie is open, and he spreads his fingers to make his hands as big as possible - his hands are warm, Steve’s skin is not.

“I’m serious,” he says. “You’re cold.”

“’S ‘cause I been sleepin’,” he says.

“Okay, so you’re gonna turn the heating up, right?”

Steve doesn’t look away, doesn’t even blink.

“Jarvis, please turn the…heating up about ten degrees.”

Jarvis says, _”Of course, Commander,”_ just as James says,

“Wow, okay.”

Steve smirks.

“Thanks, Jarvis. If you get too warm,” he says, “I wouldn’t…mind if you took off your shirt.”

“Stop it,” James says, because Steve’s back to taking breaths in weird places. “Sit down or else.”

“Or else?” Steve says, raising an eyebrow, pressing himself to James a little more tightly. “Oh no, am I gonna get-”

“Fake-banana flavored nute-shake? More broth? A veto on donu-”

“Tyrant,” Steve says. “Can’t I convince you to punish me a little more…” he searches for the right word. “I’m barely awake yet, words aren’t my strong suit, can’t you just fuck me and tell me I’ve been bad?”

James laughs suddenly, loudly too and covers his mouth with his hand as he keeps going. Steve sways them a little.

“Nah, I wanna wait until you’re havin’ fun, too,” he says eventually, and Steve shakes his head minutely, eyebrows coming together.

“What?” he says and James…is James wrong?

“Uh,” James says.

“I don’t need to…get it up to enjoy it,” he says. “I can like you touchin’ and kissin’ and all that sweet stuff without…needin’ to crack my marbles, honey, I-”

James actually snorts this time, and Steve’s eyebrows descend over his eyes with such displeasure that James has to step away.

“Crack your-” he wheezes, and Steve lets go to sit back down, slumping into the corner of the couch.

James, meanwhile, is still trying to process Steve’s turn of phrase, because wow, he’s heard a few but he’s never heard that one. 

“You could give a guy a complex, you know that?”

James takes a couple of minutes to calm down but, once he’s just about managed to resume his usual breathing pattern, he can see how unfairly good Steve looks. Like _unfairly_ good.

Steve’s sprawled on the couch, in his low-riding sweats - how do sweats even look good? - and his open hoodie, head down in mock irritation, limbs stretched out like he’s got all day.

His tags lie against his sternum, nestled in chest hair, and James first has to fight the thought that the word his brain chose was ‘nestled,’ and then the idea that he’d quite like to be those tags, because it might have been weeks but he can still keep some control over himself. 

“Ya done?” Steve says, and his voice is low and rough and the spread of his legs is very inviting. 

“I’m done,” James says. 

“Good,” Steve says. “Come here and kiss me.”

James still has the residual giggles but he is aware of himself enough to not land on Steve when Steve pulls him down, sitting down next to him instead.

“Hilarious generational verbal tics aside,” Steve says, “It doesn’t…” he winces, but James isn’t too worried - the gaps between his words are fewer and growing shorter even if they weren’t as prominent this afternoon “…have to be a one track thing, we can just touch.”

“I like touching you,” James says. “That’s fine, I just…don’t wanna get you worked up-”

“James, I can’t get worked up. But I can do literally everything else. You don’t want me to blow you, fine, but I-” he stumbles. “This is- Sorry, I- I’m-”

“It’s okay,” James says, “it’s okay, I think…I think I get it, it’s okay. We…” he blows out a breath. “You just…I can get wanting the whole….”

This is bullshit, they’ve been dating for months, he can totally do this. James can totally do this. 

“We don’t gotta fuck, you just wanna, like…” okay, how does he phrase it though? “Like…petting?”

Steve blinks at him.

“Yeah,” he says slowly.

“Just get naked and squish and snuggle, right? Kissin’ and all of that, get my, you said get my hands on you. Before. Even if you don’t get hard.” Phew, okay, good. “Right?”

Steve nods slowly, watches James very carefully.

Dammit, he _still_ looks like he’s not sure about how James is gonna take it.

“Yeah,” he rasps.

“Cool,” James nods, and Steve’s eyebrows go up, James can see him gearing up, so James plants his entire hand over Steve’s face. “Not now.”

Steve licks his palm, as though James cares, and then pulls his head back off James’ hand.

“Spoilsport,” he says. 

“Ah-huh,” James nods. “That’s me, I’m terrible. I’m gonna make food-”

“You gonna kiss me hello first?” he says, and James looks at him. 

“Pretty sure I kissed you hello,” he says.

Steve shakes his head.

“Really?” he says. “Remind me.”

James rolls his eyes but does, leans towards him and slides his fingertips from Steve’s jaw up behind his ears and into his hair to cradle his head. Steve shivers, and the little hairs rise on the back of his neck.

“Ooh, I like _that_ ,” he murmurs, just about against James’ mouth, and then they’re kissing and James his pushing his fingers against Steve’s scalp, rubbing through his hair and over the nape of his neck - Steve shivers again, really _does_ like that, and moans the kind of noise into James’ mouth that’s completely uninhibited - not rough and loud but soft, trembling, a sound like the little twitch in Steve’s movements when James scratches over Steve’s scalp with his fingernails.

Steve moves a little, so he’s leaning against the back of the couch, and James does it too, to follow him. Steve’s hands are so big on his body, the way he smells fills James’ nose, and Steve slows the kiss a little, makes it less urgent. James follows, doesn’t push quite so much, and Steve’s hand slips down James’ chest to his thigh, down the outside of his thigh as he slows the-

He’s-

James pulls back and looks at him.

Steve snores directly in his face.

It’s not loud, barely more than a breath, but James claps both hands over his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut and bends his whole upper body sideways so as not to laugh directly into Steve’s face in return, shoulders hunching inward as he screams with laughter internally, completely overcome by it.

He has to sit there like that until he’s got some semblance of control over himself but it’s difficult to extract himself from Steve’s half-embrace when Steve is still snoring periodically, and harder still when he sees how completely out Steve is.

Head against the back of the couch, purple eyelids down over his eyes, so that his long lashes fan out above his cheeks, Steve’s whole face is mushed up on one side. It’s sort of adorable and hilarious in equal measure, and James gets up to start on dinner.

~

“Hi,” Steve yawns, and James flips the switch on the electric kettle - Steve is still favoring tea at the moment, and has moved on from vanilla chai to vanilla shortbread.

It calls itself vanilla shortbread - it’s some combination of vanilla, black tea, mallow flower and macadamia nut, a gift from Wanda apparently. He’ll want a cup in the next few minutes and, indeed, walks all the way over to James.

James turns to look at him and then, because he’s got good eyes and Steve’s got cream carpets, he spots something. He thinks for a couple of seconds that Steve’s dropped something - a small, rough, rough-edged little circle of red so dark it’s almost black, about the size of a quarter - and James gasps when he realizes what he’s seeing.

“Hey look!” he says, pointing at it. 

Steve frowns, looks down at himself and then realizes James is pointing behind him, looks back, and then says “Oh!” and goes back to it, picks it up and smiles as he examines it. “How ‘bout that?”

He walks out with it, comes back without it about half a minute later.

“Got a biowaste chute in the bathroom, behind a panel,” he says. “What’re we eatin’?”

“Pork strips in cream and apple sauce,” James says, but it can wait. “Turn around, lemme see!”

Steve does as he’s asked, turns his back to James so James can push the back of his open shirt up to see. 

“How’s it look?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, you lost one,” James answers, running his fingers over the skin near to the fresh, pink circle, because he doesn’t know how the sensitivity is and he doesn’t want hurt Steve accidentally. 

It’s like an inlay of pink-colored pearl, a seamless area of darker pink that shows the entry wound in Steve’s lower back. 

James pushes the shirt up higher still to look at the other one near his scapula, and finds another pink circle of skin.

“Hey, you lost two!” he says, smiling.

“Neat,” Steve says. “You wanna bet which one’ll be next?”

“No,” James answers immediately, and he lets Steve’s shirt fall back into place.

Steve grins as he turns back.

“Come on,” he says, “lemme taste this sauce.” 

James bats his hand away when he goes for the spatula but fetches a teaspoon for him instead. 

~

“So today went well,” Steve says, probably about halfway through his meal, and James freezes for a moment, forkful of food halfway to his mouth.

“Yeah,” he says, slowly, as though he’s not sure.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to go out on Saturday?”

James puts his cutlery down, draws a deep breath in through his nose.

“Listen,” Steve says, preempting him, “before you talk, just listen. I know you care about me. I know you want to be here with me. But it’s one night a year, and she’s your best friend. And Halloween is gay Christmas, right?”

James looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Don’t gimme that, I’ve seen the t-shirts,” Steve answers. “My point is, she loves Halloween, you love Halloween, it’s once a year _and_ ,” and here he leans closer, settles one hand on top of one of James’ hands, looks him up and down, “I’m sure you can find something very nice to wear. No?”

James presses his lips together, sighs through his nose this time. 

“I don’t want to be away from you,” he says. “I know it’s dumb. I don’t want you to be on your own.”

“I mean firstly, I’m not going to be on my own, everyone else’ll drop in on their way upstairs.” James frowns in question, and Steve points at the ceiling. “Tony,” he says. “He throws a bash every Halloween, Sam and Wanda are gonna stop in. And then I’m gonna go to bed after - unless you want me to see if you and Amy and…is Connor going?”

“I don’t know,” James says. “He’s gotta ask his girlfriend.”

“Well would the three of you want to go to Tony’s?”

“Uh,” James says. “No, thanks. If we get all queer-and-drunk I don’t want it to be in front of my boss.”

Steve chuckles at him.

“You have a valid point,” he says,and then he squeezes James’ hand. “But I mean it. I have scabs and tiredness. Other than that, I’m okay, honey, I’ll be fine for an evening by myself, you know? I don’t get trick-or-treaters this high up so nobody’s gonna ring my doorbell at dumbass o’clock.”

“I know,” James says, and chews his lip.

“James, I want you to go out,” he says. “I want you to go out and have a good time and do whatever you’re doing, and I’ll probably still be asleep when you get back. _Whenever_ you get back, if you’re not out all night. Okay?”

James chews his lip a little more but nods.

“Yeah,” he says, turns his hand over to fit Steve’s palm in his own. “But I want you to call me if anything happens. Even if you just get Jarvis to tell me or something. Okay?”

“I promise,” he says, nodding. “And I want you to have a good time. Okay?”

James smiles wryly.

“I promise.”

~

Steve starts yawning about halfway through food, and James looks at him, regards him carefully.

“You know, are you supposed to be napping like this?” James says. “I thought you were doin’ better.”

Steve nods, swallows the rest of his mouthful quickly as he holds up a hand, and then,

“Myeah,” he says, “yeah, sorry, it’s like reinstalling programs after you’ve done whatever to the harddrive. You gotta restart a few times, make sure everything gets its chance to go right, sometimes each thing needs a restart. I’m just…y’know. Reinstalling, running system checks, shit like that. Don’t worry about it, happens every time.”

“You sure?” James asks, and Steve nods.

“Ask Tony,” he says. “It’s anywhere from a few days to a week and a half, usually, and he calls it ‘Naptime’ because he’s not as funny as he thinks he is.”

James nods, thinks carefully about how he wants to phrase the next part.

“Do you want to go to bed when you’re done?” 

Steve’s chewing slows and he looks at James like he can’t believe his ears.

“Boy _do_ I,” he says when James doesn’t rescind the offer, and then starts eating more quickly.

“Jesus, slow down!” James says, laughing. “You’ll give yourself indigestion.”

“I absolutely,” Steve says through a mouthful, “do not give a fuck.”

~

He doesn’t give himself indigestion, but does grow very impatient when James insists on putting the plates in the dishwasher and the pan in the sink to soak.

“I was promised bed,” he says. “I was promised snuh- uhh, snuggling.”

James smiles - still stumbled but that was a little better, right?

“Of course,” he says, “I’m sorry. Would you like to-”

His shirt might be open, but James still doesn’t really expect him to take it off. He also doesn’t expect to get grabbed by the hand and tugged forward, but that’s Steve for you, he supposes, and Steve has gone a very long time without what he’s getting tonight. 

James lets himself be led into the bedroom - Jarvis wisely turns off the lights behind them - and then Steve tugs him over to the bed and grabs him, kisses the living daylights out of him.

“Okay, easy there, Mister,” he says, and Steve makes a noise that James might call a whine if it were anyone else. 

“James,” he says, but he says it so that it sounds like _please_ and it’s so unusual, but then Steve’s libido is unusual. 

“Okay,” he says, “okay, just, get undressed and get in bed, we don’t have to get ready to sleep, right? We can just-” Steve’s already out of his jeans, just let them drop. 

His boxers go next, and James stoops to help because he’s not sure how far Steve can bend. Then Steve gets into bed and James - well, James hasn’t been shot, so James is out of his clothes in seconds, and then he’s sitting on the bed because Steve’s shoved all the bedclothes down and, when he stretches out, Steve’s rolling towards him and then-

“Oh,” James says, because then he’s wrapped up in Steve.

Like, Steve’s on his side and he’s pressed full-length to James arms going around James’ torso as he buries his face in James’ throat, and then he breathes in through his nose, deeply enough that James can feel the rush of air. When James puts his hands down on Steve’s back, Steve all but arches against him, face pressing harder against his skin, and James follows the length of Steve’s spine with his hands, brings one up until it’s between Steve’s shoulders and strokes the other down until it’s all the way on the back of Steve’s thigh. Steve moves his leg, too, gets it half over one of James’, hemming him in.

“Okay?” James says, and Steve tilts his head back then, sighs a huge, long sigh and kind of shivers again.

“Yeah,” he says, wets his lips and brings his head forward to look at James. “Yeah.”

And, this time when they kiss, it’s lost the frantic edge it’s had the past couple of times, Steve’s hands lie on James’ skin instead of clutching at him, his body is pressed to James’ in a way that doesn’t feel like he’s trying to push James onto his back. His hands roam but they’re gentle, and James tries it for himself in return - both of the quarter-sized scabs are gone from Steve’s back, and that leaves James with a blank canvas. 

“If I couldn’t ever get it up again,” he says, “you’d fuck me sometimes, right?”

“What?” James says, and Steve just breathes against him for a second or two.

“If this were a permanent problem,” he says, “you’d still want to-”

“Yeah,” James says. “I’d do it now except you’ve been told no strenuous activity.”

Something brushes against James’ neck, and he realizes that it must be Steve’s eyelashes, he must have closed his eyes. 

“Right,” he says. “It…wouldn’t be strenuous if I can’t come though.”

Is _that_ what Steve’s been angling for this whole time? An orgasmless fuck? Man, that hadn’t even occurred to James.

“Do…” James says, and considers this - Steve’ll need to shower if that’s what he wants now. “You want to go get ready?”

Steve shakes his head.

“Not tonight,” he says. “But you’d…Would you?”

“ ‘Course I would,” James tells him. “If that’s what you feel like you want.”

Steve nods a little.

“Okay,” he says.

James thought this whole time that Steve wanted to try it to see if he could, to work himself up and get off even though he shouldn’t with his injuries, but he’s been wrong this whole time. Even when they were just kissing, James thought it was a test, a way to see if Steve’s body was back to its usual self, and when he got handsy, when he started saying things like ‘fuck me,’ James thought it was code for lets-see-if-I-can. But it’s not that, it’s not that at all, and he’s read it so wrongly this time - at least he’ll never read it this wrongly again.

“Here,” he says instead, because now he knows Steve can lie on his back without worrying about catching anything. “Lie back, I wanna look at you.”

Steve does, tags clinking as he turns onto his back but doesn’t quite let go of James, and James lies next to him and leans over him so he won’t feel too exposed. 

He has to lean on one hand but, with the other, he draws a line from Steve’s throat to his belly, over the tags because they’re as much a part of him as the memories they represent, as real the people whose names on them are and were. 

“Tried to clean these when you were under,” he says softly. “You thought I was takin’ ‘em so I let ‘em be.”

Steve nods.

“I kinda remember that,” he says. “Didn’t realize it was real.”

James kisses him, just a press of his lips to Steve’s, and then dips his hand lower, just to see what Steve does. 

Steve doesn’t do anything, closes his eyes a little but doesn’t move otherwise, not when James strokes his inner thigh, not when James strokes his cock, not when James cradles Steve’s balls in the palm of his hand - it’s just touching, and Steve’s hand moves incrementally on his back, but he spreads his legs a little, cranes his neck.

“All you really wanted was touchin’, huh?” James says softly. “God, I’m sorry.”

Steve shakes his head.

“Less sorry,” he says. “More kissin’, c’mere.”

“Yeah,” James says, leans on his elbow, lifts his other hand and brushes his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone, because this he can manage, at the very least. “Okay.”

***

Friday morning, James wakes to find Steve still in bed with him. It’s been an intermittent thing since he’s been more up and about, and Steve’s brows pinch just a little.

“Morning,” he says, the word blurred into a mumbled disyllabic hum, and doesn’t bother opening his eyes. 

He’s naked under the bedclothes, and James strokes a hand over Steve’s stomach under the sheets, wriggles forward a little and-

Okay, he’s lying on something, what the hell, is there a coaster in the bed-

And then, not paying attention to what he’s doing, his fingers knock against the scab over Steve’s stomach and James, in a moment of what he’ll remember later as pure terror, feels it come away, like a trapdoor, a huge slab of Steve’s body swinging outward under his hand-

 _“NOHGOD!”_ he yells, in lieu of _I’m so sorry, have I hurt you?_ , startling the fuck out of Steve, who jerks hard as James scrabbles backwards.

Steve’s sort of halfway up onto his elbows by the time James realizes, firstly, that the ‘coaster’ thing is the other scab and, secondly, that they’ve both come off because it’s time for them to do so.

“Oh _Jesus,”_ he says, still probably too loud, and while Steve doesn’t look like he’s in pain, he does look like somebody’s shaken him quite hard. “I’m sorry,” James says, and then doesn’t touch Steve but reaches out to him, “oh my God, I’m sorry!”

Steve’s looking down at himself, two hairless pink splotches in his chest and stomach hair. 

“Huh,” he says, still sounding slow about it. “It’s okay, it’s s’posed to happen. They ain’t bleedin’, they was meant to come off, s’okay.”

James’ heart is still pounding and he looks at the two palm-sized near-black things on the crisp white sheets. 

“Fuck,” he says, because he didn’t hurt Steve but he thought he had.

“S’okay,” Steve says, picks the current objects of James’ attention up off the bed and puts them on the nightstand, God, that’s weird, “don’t fret, kid, c’mere,” and he reaches out for James, pulls just enough to indicate he wants James to lie down with him. “S’okay,” he says again once they’re about level, and he tucks James up against his side and heaves a sigh. “No harm done.”

James puts his hand on Steve’s stomach but doesn’t move it, unsure, and Steve, eyes closed again, kisses the top of James’ head and then settles again.

“You can touch,” Steve says. “If you want. Gentle, though, skin won’t be that thick until tonight.”

“Sure,” James says, and he squeezes his eyes shut, doesn’t touch the hairless patches. 

He’s going to want to calm down a little bit before he tries that.

~

Steve has two trays of strawberries for breakfast, mixed in with lucky charms, followed by a peanut butter and chocolate milkshake that he makes with _ice-cream_ , and an enormous bowl of oatmeal that he eats savory, with the addition of…

“Is that bacon fat?”

“Ah-huh.”

Okay, wow. James kind of wishes he could try it all, and knows simultaneously that he’d die within seconds if any of it made it to his stomach.

“Want eggs?” Steve says. “I’m makin’ eggs after. And _Italian sausage_.”

It’s not even an innuendo, he’s just super excited about sausage.

“No thanks,” James says. “Lemme ask you somethin’, all this drop off once you’re better?”

“The eating?” Steve says. “Yeah. Hey, can you pass me the syrup?”

James sighs, closes his eyes and asks a question he really already knows the answer to.

“For the milkshake?”

It’s for the milkshake.

~

Jame spends all day gearing up to fuck Steve. 

He wants to, he does. His hip is almost healed, there’s a thick pink line on his bicep, there’s two little circles of pink on his back, and two patches of hairless skin on his torso, including one that’s smooth and pale where he should have a nipple - it’s a little weird, but it’s nothing that’ll put James off.

He’s hesitant, and it’s not because Steve’s been so unwell, it’s not ‘cause he’s worried, it’s ‘cause it’s been like three weeks and they missed that exhibit at the museum and fall’s turning fast to winter and James remembers the maple latte and the cinnamon bun and the idea that Steve might get his camera out and…it’s been a long few weeks. And he knows how to do this, of course he does. He knows what Steve likes usually, and it’s not a problem as long as Steve talks to him, because it’s not like the only indicator of Steve’s enjoyment is how hard his dick is at any given moment. It’s just that James is not used to being inside a partner whose pleasure isn’t immediately visible or accessible, or directly linked to pretty specific parts of their anatomy.

He’ll have to be careful as well, people can come without direct stimulation, James knows people can come without an erection, too. And if anyone were going to manage that, Steve’s the ideal candidate, sensitive as he is, as long as it’s been.

He goes back upstairs for lunch and starts on the food while Steve is asleep on the couch, and he’s almost done when Steve steps up behind him and nearly gives James a heart attack.

“Hi,” Steve says, voice still rough, breathing still a little heavy with the effort of being awake, sliding warm hands around James’ waist from behind. They go all the way around onto his stomach, the tips of his fingers dipping into James’ waistband, and there goes James' train of thought. “Think I decided what I want for lunch-” 

Now, the issue is, Steve is being such an inordinate sweetheart about the fact that James is holding out on him, James still isn’t convinced it’s a good plan to give in. Obviously, Steve’s not seriously trying to coerce James. If James had told him to stop, of course Steve would stop, James has no doubt. 

"Down, boy," James answers even as he arches into the not-quite-sexual-yet touch, and Steve growls in his ear. 

_"Ruff,"_ he says, and then, "think you wanna let me into these tonight, see if I can't put one of your toys to good use?" 

James stretches in Steve's arms, groans softly as Steve mouths a path from his shoulder to his ear, but James can feel how heavy his breathing is, can hear how strained his voice is. 

"Bad dog," James says, eyes closing, and Steve kind of laughs. 

"Do you really wanna do this?" he asks. "All the jokes about a dog with a bone, all that invitation for me to paw at you? Get my tongue in a few choice places and lap you up-" 

Its so, so dumb, and James' knees are weak anyway. 

“Bad dogs don’t get treats,” he says. 

But this is the thing - he’s turning down _Steve Rogers_ , for God’s sake. It’s like a roleplay, James knows this. Steve’s _probably_ absolutely physically able to have what he wants without causing himself injury. And even if James one-hundred percent seriously wouldn’t allow Steve sex, he knows Steve wouldn’t go find someone else. 

“Ooh, incentive?” Steve asks. 

As it stands, he and Steve have been making out, cuddling, lying around together. But the whole point, when Steve got shot, was that he couldn’t even strain his muscles enough to use the bathroom. Couldn’t sit up alone. Definitely couldn’t take the way his stomach undulates during orgasm. 

“I’m saying I gotta be back at work soon and you’re not getting a treat early ‘cause I don’t have time.” 

Steve makes a frustrated noise and presses closer. Steve is fully dressed now there are no scabs for clothes to catch on, and his fingers are still cool, but there’s always been something about him that clothes don’t do a damn thing to diminish.

James shifts, and Steve dutifully takes a step back, letting go as soon as James shows any indication that he wants him to, but James turns around and comes back instead, slips his arms around Steve for a face-to-face hug. 

“Tonight,” he says. “Okay? Tonight.”

Steve smiles at him, a wry little thing, and then holds his hands up in front of his chest like paws.

“Don’t make me beg?”

James swats him with the dishcloth and tells him to set the table instead.

~

He is much the same when James is trying to cook that evening.

James is wandering around in boxers and an apron on Friday evening because a) he can and b) it’s fucking insanely warm in here.

Obviously Steve has a problem with the cold, he spent every childhood winter sick and then lost his husband in the alps, right before nosediving an experimental aircraft into the Arctic, but he’s been in and out of sleep, so he’s still alternately burning hot while his body works hard, and then freezing cold while he basically just passes out and drops into the kind of deep sleep James, ironically, can only dream of. James doesn’t mind for a couple of reasons - it’s fall, for a start - but mainly because it’s Steve and, when he isn’t cool and awake and letting James into his clothes to press close and cuddle, or wrapped from head to toe in really soft, comfy clothing, he’s wandering around in his pajama pants, or his boxers, or a nice pair of jeans. Or nothing. Nothing’s good. 

And something James has noticed, what with coming upstairs for lunch every day just to see which it is, and snuggle regardless is that, though James would totally never wish Steve’s kind of injury on anyone, let alone Steve, ever, it _is_ nice that Steve, when he’s not antsy to get back or _do something_ , is enjoying the time off. Seems like it’s kind of a new thing for him - or, at least, something he’s not felt for a while - and watching him make himself a coffee and lie around the place is a pleasure, truly it is. 

He’s _also_ been very, very affectionate while James is resolutely standing by the Doctor’s Orders, and it is a million percent like totally unfair. Obviously, sure, it’s unfair to Steve, too, but like… 

The fact that they haven’t been having sex is not as difficult as it would have been in ordinary circumstances - most of Steve’s energy has been going towards getting better. He still hasn’t tried to maintain an erection, and hasn’t even been getting a full hard-on when they’ve been doing the little stuff, which is good ‘cause James still isn’t sure how well-healed he is under the surface. Steve says the serum’s making getting-hard difficult, diverting blood and energy and leaving him tired and lethargic. But he has been showing interest, it is coming back little by little.

And even though his ability to follow through is usually gone by the time they get around to it, Steve still treats him like the best thing he’s ever seen. He's been following James around, crowding James up against walls, and generally wanting to look and touch even if he can't participate in everything. Steve's been asking him to jerk off so he can watch, a request that always gives James goosebumps, and James has indulged him once or twice.

“I’ll be good,” Steve says as he presses them together, sounding like being good is the furthest thing from his mind. “I’m fine, I-”

But he yawns, and then winces. His interest is not a show, not really - he’s not doing it on purpose. But James can see how tired he is. 

“You’re not fine,” James says. “Not yet. What you are is tired.” 

James has been very good at this soldarity thing, he thinks. He’s been trying not to jerk off around Steve, been trying not to fuck himself senseless with his toys on the rare occasions he gets five minutes without Steve asleep on top of him. But Steve’s been playing dirty since James got in tonight, accosting him for a makeout session whenever James happens to look like he’s not occupied by something else, which is very often, because Steve is gorgeous and it’s difficult not to stare. Also, it’s Steve’s fault James’ libido is what it is these days. 

“You’re right, why don’t we go to bed,” Steve says, “where we can lie down?” 

“No!” he says, but he’s smiling when he says it. “I’m halfway through the dinner, you caveman.”

 _“Kiddo-”_ Steve says, exasperated. 

But James has to move to turn down the sauce and Steve probably didn’t have an end to that sentence anyway. 

Once the sauce is all right, he turns around, avoids the stovetop and puts his back to the counter. Steve steps up immediately and kisses him, and James lets him, kisses back, pulls away to check the meat, and Steve makes a sad little noise and then pouts immediately. It's an impressive sight given that they've been kissing and his lips are link and swollen. 

James just smiles.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks, trailing his fingers down Steve’s stomach - Steve’s shirt is open now, which he must have done while James’ back was turned, and he showered while James was at work.

He’s shaved almost entirely, too, though he hasn’t trimmed the hair on his head, and he’s left the treasure-trail and a small thatch of pubic hair from what James sees from the cut of his pajama pants. 

Steve, whose…actually, whose trousers look a little different in front than they did a few minutes ago, wets his lips and sighs through his nose. 

It's good to see actually, that his dick is taking a little more interest. 

“Recovery,” he says, short of breath, “ain’t s’posed’ta…” he swallows hard, drops his head onto James’ shoulder, “be fuckin’ unfair, sweetheart, darlin’, please-” 

“I know what you want,” James says, kisses him softly again. “I ain’t tryin’ to be unfair, ‘m just, eat first, then we’ll decide what we’re doin’.” 

Steve pushes up against him, presses his body to James’ and pulls at him, tilts his head and groans softly, tries to kiss him. 

“James,” he says, and his voice is low and sweet, and he’s warm and smells good, “James, please, _please_ , I _neeeeeeed_ it-” 

He’s wheedling, jabbing James in the side and making a face and James laughs, Steve breaks out into chuckles a moment later. Then he lets go, lets James keep cooking.

“Plus it’s the weekend tomorrow,” James says. “We’ve got two whole days mostly to see how you are. See if little Cap can stand to attention.” 

“I’m talkin’ to someone this weekend,” Steve says, ignoring the terrible euphemism, or maybe just missing it entirely. “Forget seein’ how I am - I’m gonna-” he yawns “-ugh, convince you somehow. Get me a little blue pill if I gotta. Although you can quit callin’ it that.” 

James laughs, turns back to his cooking. 

He’s looking forward to a point when Steve can get it up again - of course he is, are you fucking kidding? He can’t wait, he wants to get fucking _reamed_ , but Gari said they've had to wait. As for the other stuff? 

They’ll figure it out. 

“I love you,” James says and Steve rolls his eyes and goes to pour them both a glass of juice.

“Yeah, just as well I love you too, you fuckin’ tease," he says, but there’s no heat in it at all.

~

As it turns out, although James spends all evening worrying, it’s a worry he doesn’t need to have. 

After dinner, Steve takes him to the bedroom and they undresses. James just watches him, looks at the color of his eyelids and the slump of his shoulders, and the two new patches of skin. This morning, they were dusky pink, but they’ve quickly subsided into pale, rosy skin, paler than the rest, like a smudge of too-light foundation, mottled by tiny, spidery little pink capillaries.

And on his chest, in the middle of what’s now become a similar pale swathe with its little capillaries, on the edge of his pectoral, is a new nipple - changed from flat, smooth new skin to the gradual pulling together of something that’s brighter and smoother than its twin, covered by thinner skin as of yet. It’s a brighter pink than his left and James is trying really hard not to think about how sensitive it might be.

Steve gets under the covers and James goes to grab him something to drink in case they’re at it a while.

By the time James brings him his red velvet hot chocolate (okay so it’s white chocolate and cocoa powder, with a spoonful of cream cheese mixed it, but it’s _good_ and, more importantly, stupidly high calorie), Steve is asleep again. James waits a little while for him to wake, but Steve is out for the count or, at least, for the night. 

James drinks the cold hot-chocolate (cold chocolate?), brushes his teeth, and settles down with a book until he’s sleepy enough to join him, which doesn’t exactly take long. It’s been a tough few weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

When James wakes up on Saturday, Steve’s in the bed next to him. His hair is damp and he smells like soap but he’s also…well, if he’s not asleep, then he’s doing a pretty good approximation of it. James takes a good look at him - Steve’s lying on his stomach now that he’s okay to do so, arms folded under the pillow he’s got his head on, and the sheet is only barely up over his ass. He’s a sight to behold, he really is - the lines of his body, the way his upper back slopes down toward the base of his spine, it’s such a gorgeous, sweeping curve. He doesn’t have a bubble-butt, that’s for sure, but it’s-

James bites his lip. It’s like he’s been built to fit James’ hands. Wide strokes over Steve’s upper back, a long spine to run his fingers down, small waist where James’ fingers fit into the furrows between muscles, an ass that’s a little more than a handful to grab onto. James can’t help himself, not with the scars still there to show him how lucky he is to still have Steve.

He scrubs his fingertips gently up the back of Steve’s neck, into his hair, and then strokes his palm all the way down from Steve’s hair, over the nape of his neck and the knot at the top of his spine, between his shoulders, and down until he can rest his hand at the small of Steve’s back. He moves his thumb back and forth for a moment or two, too, smiling at the back of Steve’s head.

“Mmmm, y’can do that again if you like,” Steve mumbles, “s’nice.”

“You want a back massage?” James asks. “I can do that.”

Steve sighs, the great blank canvas that is his back expanding as he does. James strokes his hand back up, to the back of Steve’s neck, before he starts just stroking his hand up and down, rubbing over Steve’s spine because he can. Steve hums a long, low sound. 

“S’nice,” he says, but it’s quieter this time, and James thinks he might be slipping back into sleep until Steve says, “you gonna keep you promise?” 

James thinks about this for a moment, and decides Steve must mean sex.

“I never promised,” he says, kisses the back of Steve’s shoulder.

“It was worth a shot,” Steve answers, and then lifts his head so he can turn it to look at James, settles back down in the pillow. “I showered?”James chews his lower lip for a second, looks Steve over. “Still worried, huh?” he says.

James strokes Steve’s hair, his face, the expanse of muscle across the back of his shoulders, and sighs. 

“We _gotta_ take it _slow,”_ he says, meaning, _okay but only if_ , and Steve rolls away from him a little, onto his side so that he’s facing James. 

“No, we don’t gotta do anything,” he says. “I want you but I’m not about to make you. And you ain’t exactly jumpin’ for joy over there.”

James feels his expression twist.

“I’m just worried,” he says. “I love you, I want you, I just-”

“S’okay,” Steve says, his voice soft as he runs the backs of his fingers over James’ cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”

He pushes up onto his hands like a press-up, and then tucks his legs up under him, sits up. 

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“Steve,” James says but, when Steve turns around, he doesn’t look annoyed or disappointed or anything else James was expecting. Oh. “Are you…sure you’re okay not…y’know.”

Steve looks bemused.

“Yeah?” he says. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I got like a semi when I woke up this morning, it’ll only be a couple days. You’re okay with sex once I can get it up again, right?”

James nods, glances down because his dick is right there, and then looks back up at him.

“I-It’s not your dick,” he says.

Steve plants his hands on the bed, leans down and presses a kiss to James’ forehead.

“I know,” he says, and then stands up again. “It’s my hip and the bullet holes, it’s okay. You care, you don’t want to ignore doctors’ orders, I get it.” He looks back over his shoulder as he walks out of the bedroom buck naked. “Just wait’ll I get my hands on you in a day or two.”

James watches him leave and then scrapes his teeth over his lower lip.

Yeah, it’s gonna be a difficult couple of days.

~

They eat lunch together because of course Steve let him sleep late. Steve makes a full-English, and drinks it with tea. James tries it with tea, too and, although he understands why Steve would prefer it (history, different nuance of flavor,) he’ll stick with his coffee, thanks.

“Do you need anything for tonight?” Steve says. “Amy was saying you don’t have a costume.”

“Mmh, I should be okay?” James answers, opening the refrigerator for the milk. “I think I’ve got like a…” He frowns. “Did you make mac and cheese?”

“Honey, you’re at work five days a week,” he says. “Every time I’ve walked in here there’s been someone bringin’ me food or checkin’ up on me, I think…Clint made it? No, Sam. Clint brought pizza. Which I ate.”

James blinks. That explains why their food wasn’t going down even though Steve was eating like an elephant. James just thought he was getting stuff delivered. And…yeah, he gets the feeling Clint would bring pizza.

“Right,” James says. “I got a lot a stuff from past years, I should be able to pull something together.”

“We can go to the store?” Steve says, and James gives him a flat look. “You could go to the store.”

“Yeah,” James says, “but I the worst comes to the worst, I can put on a baseball cap and pretend I’m Krisis from ~~Super~~ **human**.”

Steve nods.

“Right,” he says. “Have we watched those episodes?”

“No,” James says because they’ve seen some of season two but not the Krisis episodes because wow that probably wouldn’t be a good idea. “But that’s literally the costume. He’s on the run so you just dress normal but with a baseball cap because somehow that’s a disguise in Hollywood I guess.”

There is a long pause.

“Right,” Steve says, a little strained, but then, “so what are you goin’ as?”

James shrugs.

“Either Krisis or like I pull together some incubus stuff.”

Steve is very quiet and, when James turns around, he’s sitting very still and very straight.

“Presumably you just dress as usual?” he says.

“Oh, God,” he laughs. 

~

James kisses Steve goodbye in the tower garage at five fifteen. It’s completely dark by then, and Steve’s called a car for him - which James hates, and Steve doesn’t like it either, but James would rather get a car than have Steve take him on the bike. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Steve tells him, kissing him softly. “And I want pictures.”

James rolls his eyes.

“Maybe,” he says, and he’s about to get in the car when Steve pulls him back.

“Hey,” he says, and kisses him again. “Be safe tonight. Call me if you need me and I’ll send an Avenger to kick ass for you. I love you.”

James smiles.

“Love you too,” he says, and then he gets in the car, and leaves Steve behind.

~

The first thing James does when he gets home - before he takes off his shoes, before he goes to the bathroom - is raid his closet for the costumes of Halloweens past.

All his Halloween stuff is in a giant bag right at the back, and some of it’s a little crushed, but only the paper pumpkins. He looks at them a little sadly and puts them to one side - it’s too late to put them up now, there’s no point. But they’ll still be here next year, and he’s got more pressing things on his mind.

There’s a pair of corkscrew horns on a headband that he made ages and ages ago - rings of cardboard and carefully-sculpted Papier-mâché - living in the bag, good, one item down. He’s got a pair of leather pants too, somewhere, if he can still fit into them after everything Steve feeds him, and a maroon shirt. He’ll be freezing but he can wear his art deco pendant and open the shirt three or four buttons, maybe one of his magnetic studs in one ear, too. Oh, oh! And those custom-fit fangs from the other year would go really well with the black sclera lenses he bought during his Supernatural phase! 

He also has, somewhere in the bag, a tail made of vinyl that’s basically a red rat tail. It’d be useful but it doesn’t match his skin- oh ohhhh, he’s got red face-paint from Crappy Valentine’s last year when they did little hearts on each others’ faces! He can totally work a gradient up his chest so his face and neck’ll look like a glamor, he’s got black leather gloves he can wear to cover his hands, _and_ he’s got a black jacket long enough to hide the pins in the tail, oh yeah, _yeah_ , he’s got this.

By the time he’s grabbed all of it, plus his heeled ankle-boots, he’s got like maybe a couple hours to shower, style his hair and do his makeup before Amy arrives, and he wants to look _good_ so it’s more challenge-accepted than no-problem. 

He scarfs down a few twinkies that are sitting in his kitchen, to line his stomach, and then he goes to wash up. 

~

Amy calls him as he’s deciding whether he prefers messy-bun to down-and-tousled (messy bun, obviously), and he picks up and clamps the phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he picks up the sponge and the face-paint. He’ll do his chest now, and then his makeup while it dries, then he can put his shirt on after. 

_“Find something you can wear?”_ she asks, and he turns around to check, as though he hasn’t been prepping to dress for tonight for the past hour and a half.

“Yeah,” James says into his phone, looking at the remaining assembled items on his bed - the horns are black with red annuli rings and he needs to touch them up but all it’ll take is black marker. “I’ve got it, pick me up in like…half an hour?”

Amy squeals down the phone at him and then laughs.

 _“Excellent!”_ she says, and hangs up.

James decides to sponge red paint all the way from his stomach to the underneath of his jaw, as though he’s wearing a mask of his face. He has to spend about five minutes staring at his ceiling while it dries, but he contours it a little when it’s done, and it’s worth the wait. Then, when he’s done his foundation, used varying shades of red through purple for his contour, and found his white falsies, he puts in the two little fangs. As long as he drinks through a straw, he should be able to keep them in all night. Coupled with the white mascara and the black sclera lenses (and maybe he puts a little of the white mascara at the roots of his hairline, too) he looks positively otherworldly. His smoky eyes are full and dark, liner sharp and precise. Then he grabs a ring for each finger, puts on his pendant (on the back of which he puts sticky tape so that the paint doesn’t stain it) goes to find the earrings, opens the drawer where he keeps them and finds…

Oh.

Aw, yeah.

~

It is early evening, and Steve is dozing when Jarvis tells him there’s someone at the door, and he frowns as he comes awake proper, looks at the clock on the wall. James won’t even be out yet, let alone back.

“Whossat?” he says.

 _“Nurse Bianchi, Samuel Wilson, and Wanda Maximoff,”_ Jarvis answers. 

Steve blinks a little to clear his head, looks around the living room again. They’ll be on their way to Tony’s party, of course they will. 

“Yeah, sure,” he says, pushing himself a little more upright in his seat, “let ‘em in, thank you, Jarvis.”

They’re talking quietly amongst themselves when the door opens, and Wanda says,

“Oooh!” happily as the door swings inward. 

“Hi,” Steve rasps, and she immediately comes across and presses a kiss to the top of his head, perching on the arm of his chair.

“Hello!” she says. “How are you feeling?”

“Screw how he’s feelin’, we’re pre-drinkin’, Rogers, you in?” Sam says.

“I’ll have a glass of milk,” he says, and Sam nods.

“The year of livin’ dangerously, I like it.”

“I brought you scrubs,” Gari says as he comes into view, “in case you wanted to come upstairs later and didn’t have a costume.”

When Gari comes around the back of the couch, Steve sees that he’s dressed in a very familiar uniform. From like…fifteen years ago.

“Obviously, I can’t carry it off the way you can,” he says. 

Steve chuckles, holds out a hand as Sam passes him a glass of milk. 

“Nah, you look great,” Steve says. “Not many people can pull of thigh-zippers.”

Gari rolls his eyes, and Wanda gets up off the arm of the couch and comes around to sit down properly next to him. She’s dressed like…

“Amelia Erhart?” Steve says, and she beams.

“Yes! And I brought candy!”

“And Mr Hendrix over here,” Steve says, and Sam launches into his best impression - it’s not bad, actually, and his costume’s pretty good, if a little bamboozling on Steve’s freshly-awake eyes. “You guys headin’ upstairs early?”

Wanda beams at him.

“We were considering it,” she says. “Has James gone out?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “I told him to go out, he and his best friend do Halloween every year and he’s been cooped up with me for three weeks.”

“How _is_ my patient?” Gari asks, and Steve smiles.

“Just the shoulder scab to go,” he says. “The rest have dropped off, nipple’s coming in, nerves have reconnected. Far as I know I’m just wrapping it up right now. I still got desk duty?”

“You still have desk duty.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” he says. “ ‘Ey, Sam, can you look in the cupboard, see if I got any cookies left?” 

Steve does indeed have cookies left, and they share them out amongst themselves. Sam also fetches one of Steve’s decks of cards. 

“We playin’ for ‘em?” Sam asks as he sits down, shuffling already, and Wanda shakes her head, picks one of hers up and eats it. 

“Only if you want to lose when I cheat,” she says. “And I will cheat if we’re playing for Steve’s cookies.”

“Aw, thanks,” Steve says. “But ain’t you got better things to do than play cards with a half-awake dumbass?”

“No,” Gari says instantly. 

“And I’ll have you know,” Wanda says, “that Sam is very good at card ga-”

“Hey!” Sam says. “Man, what _is_ it with you people?”

“I’m sorry, _draga_ , I don’t know Gari well enough to insult him.”

“We can rectify that,” Steve says. “Deal.”

~

Once his nails are dry, James looks himself up and down in the mirror. Not bad for a last-minute throw-together. He’s got no idea what Amy’s doing but he bets she’ll look amazing in it, and he checks himself for the usual going-out things he needs. In the zip pocket on the inside of his jacket, he has cash and ID, but not a wallet and passport. You can never be too careful in New York. He’s got his apartment key on elastic, pinned in the _other_ inside zippered pocket, which is where he’s also keeping his phone now that it’s mostly charged.

It vibrates against his chest and he checks himself one last time. His makeup is flawless and the lines of his clothes are not ruined by the things he has in his pockets. His shirt, open five buttons down, opens just enough to show his pendant, the earring doesn’t look out of place, he found an old fake-septum ring and, and here’s what he’s really worried about, he wears his collar. He does feel sexy in it, does enjoy the weight of it, the press, on his skin. Also, it totally fits the ‘bound-by-a-summoning’ theme he’s kind of going for. He meets his own black eyes in the mirror, turns his head this way and that to get a good look. 

Then he gets out his phone and takes a selfie because he looks fucking good in leather pants and FX makeup, and he wants to preserve it for future bragging. 

He picks up the case for the sclera lenses - he’ll ask Amy to look after it, or else he’ll ask Connor to put it in his glove compartment, and then he leaves his apartment and heads downstairs to where Connor and Amy are waiting to pick him up.

~

Steve isn’t ill, per se. Obviously, he’s recovering from injury, but he’s not even capable of catching a cold. 

Still, though, he feels like shit, and he doesn’t exactly know why. He tries thinking of James to see if he’s missing him unduly, and it’s not that. There’s no resentment, he’s not pining - James will be back tomorrow if he’s not back tonight. It’s just that, pretty much without any warning, he feels like he’s been buried under a ton of bricks. Everything’s tired, all his limbs are too heavy, and his head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton wool.

He doesn’t say anything about it but he’s got two of his best friends either side of him, one of whom’s a trained field medic, and a nurse across the table, so he should have known better than to think he had to say something. 

“Commander?” Gari and his trained eye say first, on his feet immediately, and Steve sets his hand of cards down on the table as he shakes his head, sits back as he holds up a hand.

“I’m alright,” he says, “it’s, I’m just…”

Gari comes around the table, presses his hand against Steve’s forehead, and Steve presents his wrist. Gari presses two fingers against his pulse, holds up his other hand to look at his watch.

“You know Jarvis can tell you all this?”

“Shh,” Gari says, not unkindly, “don’t talk for a moment.” But, after a little while, he shakes his head. “No fever, there’s no arrhythmia.”

“No,” Steve says. “I just..” He sighs heavily. “I don’t know. I don’t know it just…it feels…”

“Are you tired?” Wanda asks after a few seconds, when it becomes apparent that the the words he’s trying to find aren’t going to be forthcoming. 

“No,” he says.

“How ‘bout this,” Sam says softly, “when was the last time James wasn’t here?”

Steve gives him a look.

“James goes to work every day,” he rasps, frowns at how dry his throat is, and looks down at his mug, which is empty.

“I’ll make tea,” Wanda says, and stands, taking it with her.

“Guys,” Steve says, and Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“What are friends for?” Sam says. 

“Fetching drinks!” Wanda says, drawing the vowel out as she walks over to the kitchen. 

_“Guys,”_ Steve says again. 

“I saw it a lot at the VA,” Sam says. “People who did great over Christmas and then took a downturn in January. It ain’t about a brave face, it’s about the buoyancy of a positive emotional impact. Besides, you been sleepin’ when he’s out at work, too, right?”

Steve looks at him. Then he draws a deep breath and closes his eyes as he sighs through his nose. 

“Right, well,” he says. 

Over in the kitchen, Wanda puts the electric kettle on. 

“How do you feel?” Gari asks, and Steve gets the impression that he’d be using a pen torch if he had one. “Jarvis, can you dim the lights please?”

Oh. 

Jarvis dims the lights.

“Keep your eyes open and look straight ahead for me.”

Gary waves his torch around a while and Steve does as he’s told.

“Direct and consensual responses are both nominal,” he says eventually, “watch my finger please?”

Steve does but yawns halfway through.

“Sorry,” he says. 

Gary puts his penlight away and flaps a hand.

 _“Stai bene,”_ he says, and Jarvis raises the lights again, warms them a little - Steve didn’t realize his eyes were aching but, as usual, the sim-candescents are way easier on them. _“Come ti senti?”_

“Heavy,” Steve says. “Like my batteries ran down.”

Gari nods.

 _“Sì,”_ Gari says. “I prescribe hot chocolate and blankets. Do you heave a comfortable sweater?”

“Prescribe? Can you do that?” Steve says. 

“The uniform gives me special dispensation,” he answers. _“Calmati.”_

“I’m calm!” Steve says, and it’s true - he barely gets the words out they slur so hard.

“Which hot chocolate?” Wanda says. 

“I don’t know, Doc,” Steve says, in mock anxiousness. “Is orange strong enough?”

“We’ll start with the orange and up it to white chocolate if there’s no change by morning,” Gari responds, and then he squeezes Steve’s good shoulder. “Stay with me, Steve, we’ll do all we can for you.” And then he looks at Wanda. “Seventy cc’s of orange hot chocolate mix and a third of a liter of milk, stat!”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she answers, and it makes Steve laugh at least. 

“Oh no, we’re losing him,” Sam says, and drapes the blanket on Steve’s head. “Yep, I lost him, anybody see where he went?”

“Oh, _there’s_ my costume,” Steve says. “I’m Sue Reed.”

~

 _“Wā sāi_ , look at _you!”_ Amy says, and she puts a hand on his shoulder as she looks him up and down.

Amy has dressed as a pirate and, although James knows _who_ she is, he can’t remember the name.

“I can’t remember the name of who you are,” James says, “but you’re the scourge of the China Seas, right?”

She beams.

“Zhèng yī sǎo,” she says. “Yep! And you…are…?”

“I’m an incubus,” James says, bares his fangs and runs his tongue over them. “Grrr.”

She laughs, looks him up and down.

“Okay so,” she says, “I mean first of all,” she traces a circle with her hand in front of his face, “contour? Flawless. Eyeliner? Flawless. I remember the scleras and the lashes - don’t remember the horns though?”

“Nah,” James says, “those were from college.”

“And the collar?”

Thank fuck he’s wearing eight tons of foundation because he’s pretty sure he’s gone puce underneath it.

“Sexy cat one year,” he says, because they’re close but she doesn’t need to know he just casually has it on hand.

“Cool,” she says, and steps back to lead him to the car.

“Hey!” Connor yells from the drivers’ seat, and James just looks at him.

People have reverted to slightly more savory costumes than the ones James used to see on people who were his age now when he was small, presumably because the people who didn’t like it when James was small are now the people running the businesses, thank goodness. So there’s a lot fewer ‘Sexy This’ and ‘Stereotype That’ and a lot more historical figures and god-awful puns. One year, Amy dressed in a black minidress with a white apron and a feather duster, coupled with tons of jewelry made from varnished yellow and orange rock candy, and a sea-shell bra over the top.

“I’m a myrrh-maid,” she’d said, and there wasn’t a single person she’d explained it to who didn’t groan and smile begrudgingly.

But the thing is, when James was a kid, everyone was Avengers at Halloween. Everyone. If you had enough friends, you had to agree in advance who was going as whom, and sometimes you had to compromise by wearing different upgrades (like there were at least five different Thor hairstyles to choose from by now, if you included that mohawk from ‘21, and Steve’s uniforms had been ever-changing for a while). Thankfully now it’s been long enough that most people have dropped it, and you see one or two Avengers each year, sometimes groups will still pick Avengers as an easy choice. But James wasn’t expecting Connor.

“Are you the Black Widow?” James says, incredulous, and Connor flips stray strands of his red wig aside.

“No! I’m Nadia Rurik.” Right, so basically the Black Widow’s ~~super~~ **human** counterpart. And then, creepily seductively, he smiles, and says, “hey, soldier,” from that one episode on the personnel carrier.

James laughs.

“Ew,” he says, and they get in the car.

“I resent that Amy says you had like literally no time to plan and you still look better than me,” Connor says, looking at James in the rearview.

“Aw, Connor,” Amy says. “He’ll always look better than you.”

Connor just gives her a look.

“I assign your workload, y’know,” he says.

“You look incredible,” Amy answers.

***

Steve’s evening progresses nicely, in a way that doesn’t drag but doesn’t fly. Mostly, they just talk quietly, which Steve appreciates. Once he got a hot chocolate in his hands and a blanket over his knees, he felt strange - he hadn’t really been aware of it before given that the apartment is climate-controlled but, it really felt like fall. Of course, that might be the ‘fireplace’ Wanda asked Jarvis to play on the television and the Halloween candy sitting in the middle of the table like poker chips, even though they’re not betting with it. But, with everyone in costume and a warm drink in his hands, it wasn’t difficult to lean against Wanda (and maybe help her win a few hands) and just enjoy the company of his friends.

It’s at around eleven thirty, when Gari stretches and starts to reshuffle the deck for the umpteenth time, telling Sam about his mother’s Tiramisu, that Steve realizes something and, because he’s only half awake, just says it.

“…but it is my _Nonno’s_ Marsala, with the coffee that my city’s roasters are-”

“It’s eleven thirty,” Steve says.

“-famous for.”

And everybody stops what they’re doing and looks at him.

“Uh,” Steve says, “Sorry.” 

Gari shakes his head, holds up a hand. 

“ _Figurati,_ ” he says. “Are you tired?”

“No, I just…” he says, and then looks at the three of them. “You’re gonna be real late to Tony’s party.”

 _“Uffa, accidenti,”_ Gari mutters, plonking the cards down on the table, and then he throws up his hands as he looks at Sam. “He noticed.”

“We had a pretty good run,” Sam says to him, and then he looks at Steve. “We’re not going to Tony’s party.”

Steve frowns, sits up and puts his hot chocolate down.

“But your costumes!” he says, and Wanda settles one gentle hand on his forearm where he’s rolled his sleeve up - it got kinda warm under the blanket. 

“We’re wearing costumes because it’s Halloween. We’re here because we’re your friends.”

Steve’s incredulous, horrified even.

“Aw, hell, you shouldn’t’a-”

“I believe,” Wanda says, in a tone of voice that brooks no argument - and she might be years younger than him, she might basically be his little sister, but she’s also a woman who knows what she’s about and, just like Amy, and James’ mom, and Peggy, and his own mother, Steve is absolutely unable to win against that, “that we are all adults, and have all made our decisions, and have also enjoyed our evening. Captain?”

“Yup,” Sam says. 

“Captain?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Gari answers, with a salute for good measure.

And Steve rolls his eyes but then she’s putting her hand in his, squeezing his fingers.

“Commander?”

He presses his lips together but, after a moment concedes. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I appreciate it. And pass me the Reeses, somebod- hey, is that a Butterfinger?”

~

They get tired at maybe midnight, and James has already been joining Connor on the virgin cocktails for an hour or two by then, not that Amy’s drunk. She got toasty around nine-thirty, which he could tell because she was a little loose-limbed during the third repeat of the Monster Mash, but they’re none of them big drinkers, and they’re only really social with each other, so she stopped after her third cocktail and has seems perfectly back to normal now. Amy has acquired a few phone numbers by midnight, two boys and a girl, much to her amusement, and Connor’s turned at least two people down. James has turned down a few more than that, not that he’s gloating, and he knows he’s taken but he’s also kind of pleased people think he’s attractive. 

Still, when Amy says she’s thinking about heading home, James takes his phone out to check the time and then…well…

He grabs Amy, takes her outside for two minutes so they can hear themselves think. He nearly gets knocked off his feet by a reasonably ripped (and very drunk) He-Man, who’s dancing alongside a very curvy Skeletor, but they make it outside, and James chews his lip as he tries to figure out how to say what he wants to say, even as he’s shivering.

“You okay?” she says, and he nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “But I think I…Ames, I think I might need to skip Hocus Pocus this year.”

Amy cocks her head, smiles a little.

“Yeah,” she says. “I figured. Movie night can wait. You headin’ back to the you-know-where?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Gonna be a bitch gettin’ a taxi though.”

Amy shrugs.

“Ask Connor for a ride,” she says. “I’m sure he’d take you.”

James chuckles, ignores the urge to scratch the itch under his chin because it’ll ruin the paint job.

“You just wanna see his face when I tell ‘im,” James says.

Amy grins.

“Uh, yeah?” she says, and she digs in her purse and finds him his sclera lens case. “Come on.”

~

Connor agrees to give James a ride because he’s amazing, and they pile into the car. Amy tells James to take shotgun (actually, she insists, she wants the best view of both of them,) and then James swipes through the photos in his phone.

“Where we headed, Amy’s?” Connor says, but James shakes his head.

“Not this year,” James says. “Can you take me back to the tower?”

Connor frowns.

“It’s Halloween,” he says. “You’re seriously gonna go work late?”

James looks at Amy, can feel himself blushing, and looks down at his lap instead.

“No,” he says, and then he turns his phone around, “I’m goin’ home to my boyfriend.”

Connor looks at the phone, mouth hanging open, brow furrowed, then he takes the phone and brings it right up to his face. He zooms in, probably checking for photoshop, and then he looks at James. Then he looks at Amy.

“You knew about this?” he says. 

“Yeah!” she says. “He told me Thursday. Like, Connor, I _met Steve Rogers_ on Thursday.”

Connor looks at James.

“You know he’s forty, right?”

James feels the smile slide off his face.

Well, it couldn’t all go perfectly, now, could it? He takes his phone back.

“He’s forty-two,” he says. “I had noticed.”

“You’re twenty-one.”

“Connor-”

“Are you’re sure he’s even-”

“We’ve officially been together since May fifteenth-”

“Officially?” Connor says. “I don’t remember seeing anything in the papers-”

“I mean that we’ve been fucking longer than we’ve been dating,” James bites out. “And we’ve been dating just about six months, but you know what?” He opens the car door. “You think what you want, I’ll take a fucking taxi.”

He opens the car door and tries to get out and Connor grabs his wrist.

“Wait,” he says, “wait, James, wait, I’m sorry.”

James does wait, but he grinds his teeth while he does, and looks back over his shoulder.

“We’ve been together half a year, and I love him.”

Connor looks pained.

“And,” James continues, “he says he loves me too, and I have no reason to doubt it. He was the original Captain America, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m just worried,” Connor says, and James shakes his head.

“I get it,” he says. “But the time to be worried was six months ago when we were just fucking. Or in June when he couldn’t say ‘I love you’ back. But now? Nah-uh, Connor. You don’t have to be happy for me but I’m not a child.”

“He’s twice your age,” Connor says.

“And you’re not my mother. He’s _Steve Rogers_ for God’s sake, It’s not Giacomo fucking Casanova!”

Connor lets go of him but James doesn’t get out of the car. James hears Connor heave a sigh. 

“I can take you back to the tower,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

And James has a decision to make, because he really doesn’t want to stay in the car after an argument but, also, Connor’s tried to apologize. Also the taxi thing.

“Thank you,” James says eventually, and resolutely doesn’t look at Connor for the whole drive there.

~

Steve is vaguely aware of the lights lowering, and surfaces long enough to kiss Wanda’s cheek as she kisses his.

“Sorry I’m not much fun,” he says.

“Man, you been shot four times,” Sam answers. “Fun, schmun, I’m glad you ain’t dead.”

Steve feels himself smile a little.

“Although I would probably look very nice in your uniform,” Gari tells him, and Steve actually chuckles that time.

“Wait,” Steve says, and Gari does. “I know I got desk duty and stuff like that but can I start gettin’ back into shape?”

“Are you not in shape?” Wanda says, and Steve pushes his blanket down a little.

“I would like to see you on Monday,” Gari answers. “Let me check that your wounds have knitted, that your bones are healed. Yes?”

 _“Sì, grazie,”_ Steve says, nodding, and Gari smiles. 

“I’m going to take this cookie with me as payment,” he says, and Steve smiles.

“Do you want another drink before we leave?” Wanda asks, but Steve shakes his head, closes his eyes again and rests his head against the back of the couch.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Don’t forget your candy.”

“I’m leaving the candy,” Wanda says.

“Ugh, you’re amazing,” Steve answers, and they bid each other goodnight, and then Steve is by himself.

He doesn’t get up. Doesn’t even open his eyes again - whichever of them asked Jarvis to dim the lights did the right thing as far as he’s concerned. And the couch is comfortable, the blanket is warm. He’s full of hot chocolate and he’s had a nice evening. Sleep comes easily.

~

James hugs Amy goodnight when he gets out of the car. He bids Connor goodnight, too, says he’ll see him on Monday. They’re okay but James isn’t quite over that reaction yet, even though it was well-meant.

“Say hi to Steve!” Amy says, and James smiles.

“I will,” he says, and then he goes inside and Jarvis lets him in and up.

The lights are off in the main room when James walks in, and he almost heads for the bedroom except that the fire video is on, and what looks at first like a smudge of pale paint on the back of the couch is, James realizes, the light catching on the edges of Steve’s hair.

He feels a sudden flood of warmth, can’t help his smile. There’s candy on the table, when he approaches - and the deck of cards, plus the freshly washed mugs on the sideboard, suggest that Steve’s had company. There’s perhaps half an inch of what looks like cocoa at the bottom of the mug still sitting on the table in front of Steve, where he’s sleeping sitting up in the middle of the couch, and so James comes and sits down next to him, perched on the edge of the cushions. Steve’s head is back, eyelids dark but smooth, lashes fanned out as usual, his pores open in the warmth, and his mouth slack. 

James strokes the hair back off Steve’s forehead, settles his other hand on Steve’s knee. Ordinarily, he’d just curl up next to Steve, but Steve’s hip has yet to heal and it’s probably a better idea for him to sleep lying down in a bed than upright on a couch.

“Steve,” he says softly, smiles as Steve’s brow furrows. “Steve?”

“Mmh,” Steve says, presses his lips together and then wets them, squints as he opens his eyes even though the lights are down.

“Hi,” James says, strokes the backs of his fingers over Steve’s sleep-soft cheek. 

Steve’s hands move under the blanket and rolls his head on the back of the couch to look at James and-

 _“Huagh!”_ he yelps, jerking backwards as his hands come up, and then the shock fades and his eyes close again, and he sags against the back of the couch. “Jeez.”

Oh _shit_ , James is still in his stuff.

“Oh my God,” he says as it dawns on him. “Oh wow, I’m so sorry-”

Steve chuckles.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” He draws a deep breath and pressed one blanket-mittened hand to his chest as he opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “Wow.” Then he rolls his head and looks at James again. “Good time?”

James tilts his head this way and that.

“Eh, mostly,” he says. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Steve says. “Stand up, lemme see?”

James leans in for a kiss first, and Steve makes a little noise when he feels the fangs. Then James pulls away and stand up in front of him.

“Nice horns,” Steve says. “You make ‘em yourself?” 

“Mhm,” James says, smiles, touches the tip of his tongue to one of the fangs. “I was a satyr one year.”

Steve looks him up and down, gaze catching on the collar before he looks up into James’ eyes again.

“Think I’d prefer black bodypaint,” he says, “but that’s a personal preference.”

James cocks his head and then - _fuck_! Yeah, the guy who fought the _Red Skull_ wouldn’t find red skin sexy.

“Come here,” Steve says, picks up the blanket and moves it aside. 

James takes two steps forward, and then realizes Steve means for him to straddle him.

“I can take it,” Steve says, “I promise.”

“Not sure the leather pants can,” James says, but he creaks his way forward and gets one knee on the couch on one side of Steve’s legs, grabs the back of the couch and manages to get the other leg up, too. “What do you think, yes incubus, no incubus?”

Steve’s hands settle on his thighs.

“Hmm, one evening you’ll have to put all this on specially for me incubus,” he answers, and James beams. 

Then he looks at Steve, at Steve’s pale skin and sparkling eyes, at Steve’s dark circles and heavy stubble.

“Poor Commander,” he says, as seductively as he can manage, leaning down to bring his mouth to Steve’s ear. “Surely there must be something I can do for you?” 

Steve actually shivers, fingers tightening on James’ thighs as he tilts his head back. James pulls back and looks at him, and Steve stares up at him, transfixed, expression open in a way that suggests maybe James really does have magical powers of hypnosis - eyes wide, brows up, lips slightly parted. A gentle flush across his cheekbones. 

He looks young, James decides, and the gray at his temples and in his steadily-growing beard don’t do anything to change that. James straightens his posture, keeps his head back and his eyes down - he’s not tall but, like this, he’s a little taller than Steve, and he’s hoping to add to the illusion a little. Steve doesn’t take his eyes off James, just stares up and up at him like he can’t believe James is real, and James lowers his head slowly, keeps his shoulders down to make his neck look longer and Steve tilts his chin up to meet James as James kisses him just briefly. He doesn’t taste bad at all - mainly of chocolate - and James breaks the kiss to nuzzle Steve’s jaw, to get his mouth on Steve’s neck. Steve groans softly, one hand moving up from James’ thigh onto his back as James gets his fingers in Steve’s hair and under the collar of his shirt. He hears Steve gasp softly as he kisses over the artery in his throat, another gentle sound as James maps Steve’s skin with his lips, then his tongue, then-

“Oop,” he says. “Ha, shit, I lost a fang.”

“Oh, it’s,” Steve says, but then he snorts, and then he chuckles, and then he’s laughing softly as James pulls back to look at him. When Steve gets a look at James with only one fang, he laughs harder. “It went-” he says, “it’s- It’s down my shirt, sorry!”

James laughs too, but he takes the other fang out, leans back in Steve’s arms and puts it on the table.

“I’ll get it in a minute,” he says, and then he kneels up and plunges his hands into Steve’s hair and kisses him. “Mmm, missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Steve says. “Would you like to make my actual year and take this to the bedroom?”

James bites his lip.

“I have to shower,” he says, “but then yes.”

Steve’s eyes light up, his smile widens.

“Great!” he says. “Hop to it, then, kiddo, don’t forget to take your lenses out.”

James eases himself off Steve’s lap and gets to his feet, still creaking in his leather pants. He snags his fang off the table and undoes his boots while Steve retrieves the other one from down his jumper, and then he goes to hop in the shower while Steve gets ready for bed.

~

Any actual sex will have to wait, they decide, because Steve’s way too tired to go get cleaned up. Instead, he pulls James half on top of him under the covers and grabs his ass with both hands, presses their hips together even though his dick still isn’t doing much more besides getting a little thicker. 

James kisses his mouth and his cheeks and his neck and his shoulders, fits his mouth in the hollow of Steve’s throat, his tongue in the hollows behind his jaw. Steve’s fingers carry a tremor where they rest against James’ skin, and he stretches and reaches and offers his skin to James, who pulls out all the stops as best he can.

“In the morning,” James says, breathless with it, “when you shower, wake me up.”

Steve frowns.

“Uh,” he says. “I’m goin’ to church in the morning, honey.”

James pulls back a little way, blinks at him.

“Are you well enough?”

Steve’s eyebrows go up.

“I’d better be - tomorrow’s a holy day of obligation. November first. If you’re practicing, that is,” he says. “Especially this year, ‘cause it’s a Sunday, so…”

James nods a little.

“Huh,” he says. “I’m not. You’re not takin’ the bike, right?”

“God no,” Steve says. “I’m taking a car and I’m going to the latest mass of the three, I’m not a masochist. You still got paint here.”

Steve’s fingers brush the spot behind James’ ear where it joins his head. 

“What a coincidence, so do you, lemme get that,” he says, and Steve smiles when James goes for the same spot on him that he just pointed out on James, only with his tongue.

Pretty soon Steve stops smiling, but from the way he sounds and the way he moves, it’s definitely not because he’s not having fun. He murmurs little things and gasps and moans and James can feel him flexing his hips. He can also feel Steve’s interest, and he doesn’t say anything about it, but it’s certainly the most he’s felt since Steve’s been home. Judging by the way Steve moves, it’s the most Steve’s felt for a while, too.

James smiles against his mouth and runs his hand down Steve’s flank just to feel him arch into it.

It’s going to be days, if that, and James - Steve too by the looks of things - cannot _wait_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take that, Marvel Universe! I had a go at your disguises _and_ your iterations of Fantastic Four!


End file.
